Your name is TAVROS NITRAM
by Nekouyoku
Summary: A gamtav AU with a super creative title.


Disclaimer: not mine

* * *

Your name is TAVROS NITRAM. Your birthday was a few months ago, when you turned FIFTEEN. You feel the urge to mention this, since it seems like there might be someone reading this who is ESPECIALLY PICKY ABOUT THAT DETAIL. Your skin is a bit on the tan side, due to your HISPANIC HERITAGE. Despite that, you do not know a LICK OF SPANISH. Someone once said 'me gusta' to you, and you were the ONLY PERSON IN THE ROOM that didn't understand. And everyone else was WHITE. Your hair would usually be SPIKED IN A MOHAWK, notably the most radical decision your parents have EVER LET YOU MAKE. It is, however, currently not gelled, due to WHERE YOU CURRENTLY ARE.

You are currently AT CHURCH, due to your parents being VERY CATHOLIC. You are doing your very best to participate, despite the fact that you are CONFINED TO A WHEELCHAIR. This is making things even more difficult than usual, due to the fact that everyone is standing up and there is a RATHER LARGE PERSON blocking your view.

You look around, making sure your parents don't notice, and spot someone else in the back, on the empty benches, sitting down and looking altogether pleased with life. You would have looked away, because as everyone knows staring is not a nice thing to do, but you are transfixed with this particular specimen of a human being. He's skinny, a bit /too/ skinny, you would think if you were a particularly strongly opinionated person. But you are not, so you move on to other details. He's tall, and looks like he hasn't gotten a good night's sleep for the past week or so. He's also wearing...face paint, you think. You might be offended at this if you had it in you to be so.

He spots you, and you freeze like a deer in headlights, feeling guilty. He doesn't seem to mind, however, and proceeds to smirk and blow you a kiss.

You turn away, feeling your face grow warm, and you wonder who he is.

* * *

You help out with the kids in the Sunday School today, like you usually do. Your mom insists that you're great with children, but you're not so sure. You tend to get pushed around a lot. Uhh, literally. You still remember in excruciatingly vivid detail the day that the lesson had ended in tears. For you, that is. The six year old was rather triumphant.

Today is an easy one, though. It's all about the Good Samaritan. You are confident that there will be no arguments about this story.

The coloring pages are a little upsetting to you, however. Some children's depictions of the man on the side of the road are fairly graphic.

* * *

You're stuck with Dumpster duty again. You're not sure how, but before you know it you're alone in a room with a bag of trash. This seems to happen every Sunday. You suppose that everyone is just really busy, and you don't have anywhere to be at the moment, so you guess you might as well help out.

Wheeling out to the Dumpster is difficult with one arm busy, but you manage it. You've had some practice, after all, despite your mother's insistence of pushing you everywhere herself.

Getting the bag into the Dumpster without standing up is difficult, too, and you hope that no one will mind if you just sort of, uhh, put it to the side. You turn to race back to the front door, free of your burden and kind of wanting to wash your hands, when you spot something that must have previously been obscured from your sight.

It's the person that was sitting in the back of church earlier, only this time he's sitting behind the church, and...seems to have lost consciousness at some time.

The Good Samaritan story still fresh on your impressionable mind, you wheel over to him to see if he's okay.

"Uhh...hello?" you say, feeling silly.

There's no response.

So, you lean over and prod the person's forehead, it being the most accessible area. You get another no response, and the tip of your finger comes back white.

You go to get help.

* * *

And that's the end of that, you think. Someone volunteered to take him someplace to make sure he was okay, and you didn't see him the next time you went to church, no matter how much you looked. You're not sure why you were looking, or why you were so disappointed when he wasn't there. The most you can find out is that he wasn't hurt. You decide not to think about it.

You find yourself thinking about not thinking about it while you're doing your homework later that night. You aren't entirely sure what a geometric mean is, and you just remembered that you were trying to remember what it was when your mind started wandering. In an attempt to get back on track, you draw a triangle on the side of your paper. It looks horrible. You never quite got the hang of writing with your right hand, despite everyone's insistence that you do. You're not entirely sure why. What you are at least somewhat sure of is that this train of thought is getting you very off track.

You try to focus again, but you're very tired and the tapping on your window is starting to distract you. You wonder if you should try asking your parents to trim the tree again. You find you answer very quickly, due to looking up and seeing that the tapping on your window is not, in fact, being caused by a tree branch.

In a moment of what you think is probably youthful indiscretion, you go over and open the window, letting your visitor in. It's the person from church. You wonder how he got up to your third-story window.

"Well isn't this the coziest motherfuckin' place I've ever laid my eyes on," he says, standing up and looking around. You stare at him. You think you should be scared, but you're too surprised to be.

"Uhh," you start. Your guest turns and looks at you, smiling. "What are you, uhh..."

You wait to be interrupted. You then realize that you're waiting to be interrupted, and wonder when this became a habit. He's just staring at you, waiting patiently for you to finish.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just came to thank the brother that got me out of that alleyway," he answers.

"Oh, I, uhh, didn't really...um..."

You wonder if this was really the answer you were looking for. You're still wondering how he got to your third story window. You notice, however, that his hands are more than scratched up, and this strikes you as more urgent than anything else.

"Your hands..." you say. Your visitor takes a moment to process the two words, before looking down at his aforementioned appendages. He seems surprised.

"Do you, uhh, want me to, get something for that?" you ask, thinking that you're probably more bothered by it than he is. But you're not sure.

"That'd be really fuckin' sweet of you brother, if you would."

"Uhh, okay, then, stay here, please."

You leave to go find band-aids, noticing him sit on your less than immaculate bed. You're a bit bothered by his language. Though, you find yourself less offended by the cursing and more wondering about his use of the word 'sweet'.

You suppose it doesn't matter.

When you come back with the bandages, he's laying down. You hope he hasn't fallen asleep, though you're not entirely sure a person can fall asleep so quickly. You end up not having to worry about it, because when you stop at the edge of the bed, he opens his eyes and smiles at you.

"Uhh, you look comfortable," you remark. He laughs, and you're not sure what's so funny.

"I don't suppose you could all about up and help a brother out? Putting shit on your hands is motherfuckin' hard unless you got an extra."

You take a moment to figure out what he said, and find yourself nodding before you're completely sure.

He holds out a hand for you.

You stare at it.

You suddenly realize what's going on, and reach for a box of band-aids, clumsily fumbling it open, pulling out a few. You're embarrassed for a moment, until you realize that your guest is acting like he hadn't seen your mishap. Even though he obviously did. You're a little confused, but mostly relieved that he isn't making fun of you. You don't really have to wonder why you're so accustomed to being made fun of. It's just something that happens.

He stays almost perfectly still as you patch up his hands, both of you pretending not to notice how much your own are trembling. It would make sense, you suppose, if you were scared. There was a strange person in your room that just crawled through your window. But, you're not scared. You wonder why your hands are shaking. You continue to wonder how he got up to your third-story window.

He's wearing the same thing that he was when you first saw him. Your nose can tell as well as your eyes can.

It's quiet besides the breeze and the sound of bandage wrappers. You feel uncomfortable, and search for a conversation topic. Your mind seems to have gone blank, and you glance up at him. He's staring at you. He doesn't look away.

"Uhh," you automatically say, looking back to your guest's hand. You're blushing again, but you're pretty sure he won't be able to tell. He's waiting for you to continue talking, though, so you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"What's your name?"

You wonder why you didn't ask that before.

"Gamzee Makara," he answers. "And you?"

"It's, uhh, Tavros," you say, thinking about how weird his name sounds. Gamzee. Gamzee Makara. You think it fits him, maybe.

"Well isn't that just the nicest motherfucking name. Tavros, Tav-ros..."

He says it a few times in different voices, and you smile a little.

"It's nice to meet you, uhh, Mr. Makara."

He shakes his head, and his hand, and a half-attached bandage flops around.

"No motherfuckin' misters here, Tav, only brothers." he says, and the nickname takes you by surprise. You don't think you've ever had a nickname before.

Gamzee holds his hand out to you again, this time turned sideways. You stare at it for a second, before taking it in your own. He shakes it, a little bit too enthusiastically, and says, "But it's nice to meet you, too."

* * *

He ends up spending the night on your floor.

"But," you say, "you have to, uhh, be gone by morning, or at least, I'd appreciate it, since, I'd get in pretty bad, uhh, trouble, if my parents saw you here..."

He's gone by morning.

Very early morning, in fact. You wake up at 6:00, and the only thing left is a pillow lying on the floor, covered in face paint.

...

You're going to have to do laundry.

* * *

He doesn't come back the next night, and you don't know why you were expecting him to. He'd said that he came to thank you, and he did, you guess. So, there was no reason to climb up to your window again.

...

How did he get up to your third-story window, anyways?

* * *

He's not there the night after that, or the next, or the next after that, and you'd like to say that you've forgotten about him, but you kind of can't.

Tonight you find yourself wondering if this makes you Wendy. Maybe Gamzee was going to show up and whisk you away to Neverland. You think that'd be really nice. You've always wanted to fly.

Instead, you're laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling. It's really bland, since your parents had made you take the stars off. They're for kids, they said. You wonder if that means they think you're an adult now.

You don't feel like an adult.

You turn to the window, thinking you heard a tap. There's no one there, though, so you try and convince yourself that you were going to look out the window anyways, and watch the leaves of the tree twitch as a breeze goes by. You wish you could see the stars, but you're too deep in the city for that.

A rock flies up and hits your window.

You blink, and wonder if that really happened. You continue staring, and another one comes up, and hits the glass with a loud thunk. You decide to see what's going on and make sure they're not going to get big enough to break the glass, but in your hurry to get in to your wheelchair, you accidentally push it away and end up face-first on the floor.

You're glad, for once, that Gamzee isn't there, because that was pretty embarrassing, as you drag yourself up onto it and finally go over to the window.

You can't see anything, so you open the window and lean out.

And, there he is, standing three floors down with a handful of rocks. He looks like he's about to throw another, but instead drops all of them and grins.

"Tavros!" he calls, and you can barely make it out, but you're sort of glad he's not yelling any louder.

You just wave at him, since you're pretty sure your voice won't carry.

"Let down your hair!" he says, and you're momentarily confused before you understand the reference.

"I, uhh...wait, I don't really, have that much, uhh, hair..."

He frowns slightly, and you're not sure whether it's because he can't hear you or because you're being uncooperative, but it ends up not really mattering because either way he starts climbing up the wall, and you hardly have time to be worried before he's hanging over your windowsill.

"Fuckin' sorry, Tav, but I can't up and hear you worth shit," he says, grinning again. You help him in, and attempt to dust him off a bit, but soon realize that most of the dirt isn't coming off.

"I just, uhh, said that I don't, really have that much hair," you say. He pats you on the head, messing up what hair you do have, but you don't really mind.

"That's alright, you still look motherfuckin' fine."

You start to wonder again about his word usage.

"So, uhh, what are you, uhh, doing here, again? I mean, not that I don't want you to be here, or anything, it's just...when someone climbs through, someone's window, there's usually a, uhh, reason..."

He gives you a sort of a blank stare, and you feel a little uncomfortable. His hand is still resting on your head.

"I up and all forgot, brother. Maybe I just fuckin' came to see my Tav," Gamzee says, and smiles lazily. You wonder when you became 'his' Tav, but you find that you don't really mind. No one's ever come to see you before. Especially not through your window.

"Thank you," you mumble, but you're not sure he heard. It would have been embarrassing anyways, you decide as he goes and sits on your bed again. He looks around. You stare at him. The silence gets slightly awkward, mostly due to the fact that you're not sure how you feel about someone examining your room. But he stops, and begins digging through the pockets of his overly-large pants. You were under the impression that his pockets were empty, but you suppose you were wrong, because he dumps a small pile of objects onto your bed. A key, a wad of paper, a few coins, an odd looking piece of metal...

And a cigarette, you think. Out from his other pocket comes a lighter, and he glances up at you. He's got pretty big eyes. And by that you mean...uhh...well, they're kind of pretty, too, now that you think about it...

You suddenly realize that he'd said something, and you were too busy thinking about his eyes to have heard. This bothers you in a few ways. "Uhh, what?" you ask, and he repeats himself. He's asking if it's okay with you if he smokes.

You glance at the open window, and nod, though you kind of feel like you shouldn't be. "How, uhh, old are you?" you ask, as he lights the, well, you think it's a cigarette.

"Seventeen, I think," he answers.

"Isn't that, illegal..."

You feel a little sick. Whatever is in that, it smells funny. You start to worry that your parents will notice it, though you always keep your door closed.

He shrugs, and blows smoke at the window. It drifts out, thankfully.

"This shit'd be illegal no matter how old I was, brother. But it makes a motherfucker feel great."

You stare at him. You're guessing it's not a cigarette.

He pats the side of the bed next to him, your bed, and you hesitantly wheel over. You stop, but he holds out his hand and helps you up, so you end up sitting next to him. A little too close for your comfort, actually. You're sort of a firm believer in the whole personal space thing, and, he smells a little, uhh, funny. You don't say anything, because you think that'd be pretty rude, but you can't help but wrinkle your nose a little, which Gamzee, unfortunately, notices.

"Something wrong, Tav?"

You shrug slightly, but it doesn't seem to amount to much. He's still staring at you, waiting for an answer. Or maybe an explanation. Either way, you feel like you should say something.

"It's just, uhh..."

Your mouth sort of hangs open as you try and think of something to say. There are any number of ways you could avoid the subject, but at the current moment, they all escape you. You decide to tell the truth.

"You don't, really, uhh, smell, very nice..."

He laughs. You suppose this is an alright reaction.

"Sorry Tav, a brother doesn't all get much time to shower."

"Oh, well, uhh, you can use mine, if you want..."

You kind of regret saying that. You're not sure if you like that idea. You don't really want to think about how you'd manage that without everyone noticing he's here, either.

"Really? I'd be so motherfuckin' thankful to a brother if it's all okay up with you, Tav."

You guess you're going to have to figure it out.

* * *

It's actually not that hard to think up a plan, since you've got the whole time that Gamzee is smoking to think. And, well, you only take a couple seconds to come up with it, and you spend the rest of the time trying to think up something that isn't so...awkward.

You fail miserably. You kind of start to panic when he gets up and throws what little he didn't smoke out the window, and asks where your shower is...you think. His speech is a little more muddled than usual. You're pretty sure that that wasn't a cigarette.

"Well, uhh, it's just, down the hall, but..."

He continues staring at you. You're really going to have to work on this whole finishing sentences thing.

"I, uhh, don't, um, want my parents, to, uhh, figure out, there's, uhh, someone else, here..."

You start wringing your hands, and you're pretty sure you're noticeably blushing, which is quite a feat. Gamzee doesn't seem to notice, though, or he at least doesn't react. Then again he doesn't react to a lot of stuff. You're having trouble getting words out of your mouth now. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"So a motherfucker just has to all up and come in the room with me, brother, your parents won't all and know the difference, Tav."

You nod slightly. You guess your plan was pretty obvious after all. You're still not too sure about this. You're staring fixedly at the floor when he comes back over and pets your hair, and you jump slightly, but he just keeps smiling.

"Don't all and be embarassed, Tav, I don't mind. We're all fuckin' people, made of the same stuff. But you can sit in the motherfuckin' corner and close your pretty eyes if you want, brother, I don't mind that, either. I get that some people get all up and fuckin' bothered about shit."

You wonder how he can sound so comforting when he's cursing every other word. You still feel a little uncomfortable.

"Uhh, okay, I'll, uhh, do that..."

But at least you can speak now.

He grins lazily. His teeth don't look very nice. At least they're clean. You think.

"Could you, uhh..."

You gesture at your wheelchair, meaning to ask him to push it over so you can get into it. But instead, he picks you up, and you gasp because wow you were not expecting that, and when he puts you down you think he's going to laugh at you, but once again, he doesn't. You end up smiling slightly as he points you to the door, and says, "Where to, brother?"

* * *

You peer out the door into the hallway.

* * *

It's a thankfully uneventful ride to the bathroom. You were expecting some sort of dangerous brush with your parents, but you guess they're occupied elsewhere. You wonder if they're asleep already, though it hasn't been explicitly stated exactly what time at night it is.

"You've got the coziest fuckin' house, Tav. It suits a brother," he says, as you lock the door. He's the first person you've heard use the word 'cozy' that didn't sound condescending. You get the feeling he really does like it.

"Thank you, uhh, brother."

He grins at you. You get the feeling he really likes you calling him 'brother', too. You guess you'll have to do that more often, even though its a little weird.

Speaking of a little weird, you wheel over to the shower and pull the curtain back. You're really thankful it's not transparent, though this is the first time you've actually thought about it. You're blushing again. You don't really want to think about it.

"Well, our, uhh, water heater, is, uhh, a little, broken, so, if you like, uhh, warm showers, which, I don't see why, you wouldn't..." you laugh slightly, and he smiles along with your not-joke. "Then, I wouldn't, uhh, turn the cold, uhh, water on, at all."

You wheel away from the shower as much as you can, but your bathroom is pretty small, and you sit there messing with your hands. You don't think you've ever been in a more awkward situation. It's pretty okay, though, you guess.

"Sure thing, brother," Gamzee says, and pulls his shirt off. It messes up his hair, which then kind of just stays there, sticking up. And he's really skinny. You can see his collarbone. And his ribs. And, you're not sure hip bones are supposed to stick out like that. Then again, you've never really seen hip bones. Since, well, you suppose, you're not really supposed to see them.

You suddenly realize that you're staring, probably because he reaches down to remove his pants, and you feel your face flush red and turn to stare at a wall, luckily having the sense to not turn to the mirror. You hear more fabric hit the floor, and then the curtain pull shut, and the water starts running. You brave a glance over, and can barely make out a vague silhouette, thankfully.

You're still pretty embarrassed.

* * *

Time passes.

You're not too sure how long its been, since you've just recently come to realize that there aren't any clocks in your bathroom. You guess it can't have been that long, because it doesn't really take that long to shower. You guess. You haven't really got a large amount of, uhh...data.

It takes a while for you to stop being so embarrassed, and your chest feels a little sore from your heart beating so hard, but you're pretty okay now. Gamzee is whistling. You smile a little. He's not very good at it.

Everything's going pretty well until there's a knock at the door. You nearly have a heart attack.

"Tavros?" comes the voice from the other side. It's your mother. You guess she's awake, then.

"Yes, uhh, mother?"

You feel a little light-headed.

"Can I come in? I need to get something."

"I'd, uhh, really, rather you not..."

You start to feel sick again.

"Tavros..." she says, and you're pretty sure she's starting to get upset with you, "I just need to get something off the counter. It'll take a second."

"I could, uhh, get it for you."

This was a bad idea.

"Tavros!"

"U-uhh! Okay, just, uhh, give me a moment, please, mother."

"You have 10 seconds."

You start to panic. It's obvious there was someone in the shower and if you weren't then it was someone else and if she knew that then oh god how would this even look and and oh my god you can't breathe-

You're lucky you don't have any air in your lungs to yelp with when Gamzee leans out and grabs you and pulls you in to the shower with him.

Your mother comes in and gets whatever object caused all of this and leaves.

You've just about suffered a death by embarrassment when he places you, wet now, back in your wheelchair. You cover your face with your hands and kind of feel like crying, even though you guess you didn't much see anything and there'd be no logical reason to be bothered if you did but you still feel really terrible about this whole thing and think you might just throw up.

You manage not to, and finally get your breathing normal again.

"...sorry, I didn't mean to go and bother you that much, Tav."

You try and tell him that it's fine and that it was probably a good thing that he did that, but your throat isn't working again, so you just shake your head.

The water squeaks off, and you hear Gamzee get out, and you're pretty sure that that sound is him taking a towel off the rack.

You feel your wheelchair move a bit, and peek through your hands to see him, with a towel around his waist, leaning on your legs. He's pouting, and you can't help but smile a little about that.

"Sorry," you mumble, rubbing one of your eyes a little. You think they ended up watering.

"No, brother, you're supposed to be the one all and forgiving me, Tav. You didn't go and do anything fuckin' wrong."

"Well...uhh...you didn't either, so, uhh, we're even, then."

He grins, and it's silent for a moment as his hair drips on your pants. It doesn't make much of a difference.

"So...uhh..."

He continues staring at you attentively, face clear of paint for once. You would think that this fixated attention would be uncomfortable, but it feels kind of nice. You've never really had people listen to you before, and here's someone hanging off of your every word.

Also in a towel.

But you try not to think about that.

"I really don't think, it'd be, uhh, nice, to make you walk home, wherever that, uhh, is, when you're wet, and it's night, so, it's, uhh, cold..."

He shifts a little, and you're a little unnerved by how easy it is to make out nearly every bone in his body. Then again it's not that hard to unnerve you. Then again, you're pretty sure this would unnerve anyone. You're overcome with a rather strong urge to feed him, but it's really hard to get to the kitchen since you're, uhh...paralyzed. Maybe later.

"Is a brother going to let me sleep in his room, again?"

You nod, and smile a bit more than you usually do.

You're starting to like this.

* * *

You decide that the floor is a little uncomfortable, and offer him your bed. Even though it's a little small. He says that he doesn't want to rob a, uhh, brother, of his sleeping space, but agrees to as long as you'll sleep there with him.

You're not sure how you feel about this.

But you agree.

* * *

He asks if you're a kicker.

* * *

Since he's sleeping so close to you, it's easy to tell when he leaves. You pretend not to wake up at first, but when you hear the window open, you can't help but speak up. Being half asleep probably helps, too.

"You're coming back, right?"

You can't really see much but his silhouette, but you like to think he smiled at you.

"As often as I can, brother," he says, and makes his way out.

You still kind of wonder how he keeps getting up to your third-story window.

* * *

It's not quite as long this time before he comes back again, and you hear him tapping on your window. But you don't get up and open it. He has to pry it open himself, and you're a little worried he'll fall, but...

There's really not much you can do about it.

"Did a brother all and forget to get up and open the window?"

You sniff.

He stares at you a second, and you feel the bed move as he crawls up next to you.

"What's wrong, Tav? Is some shit botherin' my brother?"

You shake your head, and wipe your eyes, and sniff again, and suppose that you aren't being too convincing about this, but you look up at him and try and pretend that you weren't crying.

"Oh shit...don't you go all and cry with those big brown eyes of yours, brother, I'll up and cheer you up if I can."

You suppose you didn't do so well. You smile slightly anyways.

"That, uhh, rhymed, a little," you say, and your voice isn't working that great.

He grins at the response. "I'll try and rhyme all the time for my brother if there's no other way to make you smile."

You can't help but laugh at that, even if it sounds a little sad. "If you, want to..."

He shifts around, and sits right up next to you, and puts his arm around your shoulders. You guess generally you'd be uncomfortable in this situation, but you really feel like leaning on him. So you do. It's...nice.

"It's fine any time for you to tell me what's wrong, brother," he says. You nod. He stares at you.

"I just, uhh...they took, my wheelchair..."

It doesn't seem so bad now, though. You're not too upset about it now. Now that Gamzee's here...you're starting to feel upset about...something else.

"Oh...I'm sorry, Tav. That seems like a fuckin' horrible thing to have happen."

You shake your head again, and sniffle. "It's, uhh...not that bad, really..."

But your voice is shaking, and the tears are welling up again, and you feel pretty worthless for not even being able to pretend you're alright. You don't want Gamzee to have to deal with you like this.

That just makes it worse, though.

"Then what's all making my motherfuckin' Tav get his cry on?"

You sniff again, and try to answer, but it comes out as a miserable whine and you're crying into your hands again, and you think you probably look pitiful and disgusting but Gamzee is still there, rubbing circles into your back and rocking back and forth a little. This helps in some ways, though not so much in others, but either way after a minute or two you're taking steady breaths again and not feeling quite so miserable.

"I-I'm sorry..."

"It's fine, brother, we all gotta let it out sometimes."

You lean up against him again.

"Even you?"

"Even me."

You smile slightly, but it doesn't last long. Your mind feels pretty blank. You think it might be because you're trying not to think about what made you cry.

You start thinking about what made you cry.

"Uhh," you start, to the bedsheet. You take Gamzee's lack of reply as an invitation to go on.

"You know, uhh, the bible..."

"Yeah, I've heard of it."

You decide to laugh since, well, if he wasn't kidding, then...well, you're not sure.

"Well, it, uhh, says some, things..."

"Um-hm?"

You're slightly startled. That's the first time, you think, that he had ever really shown interest in what you were saying. Or, well, that he'd ever said anything about it. He usually has an expression of hanging off your ever word, but...

You realize you've lost your train of thought.

You find it again, and you're not too happy about it.

"Like, uhh, it says some things, are, uhh, bad..."

"Like?"

"Oh. Uhh, well, um, for one, it says, uhh...being gay...is...bad..."

"Is that what my brother was crying about?"

You start messing with your hands again, and, oh, you're definitely blushing, but you try and give a little noncommittal shrug anyways, but then he doesn't react and before you know it you're nodding, and you feel like your throat's closed up and you're suddenly trying very hard to keep yourself from crying again.

"Well, if you don't mind a brother's opinion, I don't all up and think you should fuckin' worry about that, Tav."

You try and ask why not, but when you move your mouth no words come out. So you just look up at him and hope he gets it.

"If your big guy thought that kinda' motherfuckin' love was wrong, he wouldn't have all and gone and made me fall for you, brother."

You blink.

You look away, anywhere but at him, and you think you're crying again but that doesn't make sense because there's a grin on your face that you can't seem to make go away.

"U-uhh, umm..."

You have no idea what to say. You're smiling and your heart is pounding and you're thinking that this is exactly what it feels like to be terrified, except you're really, really happy.

You twist around and hug him, and you guess you did that a little faster than you thought because he falls over and then you're lying with your face in the shirt he's been wearing for you don't know how long but you don't care, it's awesome, and you're happy, you really are happy, for once.

"I love you, Gamzee, sooooo much," you say, and you're still crying, but it's alright.

"I love you, too, Tav. I love you, too."


End file.
